


bass down low

by orphan_account



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:57:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1351612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake and Yang go to a club and do the nasty. There's nothing else to it. (Rewritten from a work on tumblr.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	bass down low

The bike’s revving made ripples through the nighttime silence.

Blake snaked her arms under Yang’s, hands threading together against her stomach. Yang’s blood pounded in her ears, a solid sound against the noise of rubber on asphalt, and she gripped the handlebars. Blake’s breath on her neck added its soft synth edge.

The ambient noises of the highway pooled into her head. Yang twisted through the cars near-recklessly, grinning when Blake’s grip got tighter. She pretended that Blake was her precious damsel in distress and that the shadows of the streetlights were tall, dark villains. Blake Belladonna was about as far from a damsel as one got, but it couldn’t hurt to dream.

Yang’s bike squealed to a stop, skidding up over the curb. Blake flicked Yang on the shoulder. “You don’t have to impress me by being stupid,” she said, lips brushing the shell of Yang’s ear.

“Okay, but that would have been way less hot if we were wearing helmets.” Yang swung her legs over the seat and stood, stretching her arms above her head. Blake’s heels clicked on the pavement when she dismounted. The club’s leaking lights flashed bright against their eyes.

Yang pushed the doors open with two hands. She beamed.

The hum of voices was like a layer of cotton over the deep bass in the background, but Yang felt it as strong as her heartbeat in her blood. She kept the tempo by tapping fingers against her hip.

“I think I’m underdressed.” Blake’s jaw tightened. 

Yang put a contemplative finger on her chin, following her gaze. They looked like a school of tropical fish. Ruffles and stripes and neon. She set her hand on Blake’s shoulder. “No snarkiness in my club.”

Blake’s defenses were up, sarcasm dripping from her words. “Your club? Do you own it?”

Yang nodded at her favorite bartender. He nodded back, whirling around to grab two glasses. “I might as well.”

It had been a risk introducing her favorite bookworm to Vale’s bar scene. She checked on Blake periodically from the corner of her eye, waiting to see the hint of stone in her expression, the straight-across set of her mouth, an indicator that she was mentally elsewhere. The very millisecond she caught sight of it would be when they left.

Yang winked at Blake, sliding up to the counter. She slipped a few bills into the bartender’s hand and waved Blake over.

She stared at the drinks like they might bite. The colored glass and little umbrellas were Yang’s absolute favorite, and they contrasted so fantastically with Blake’s simple black dress that she wanted to bust a gut laughing.

“Look, sorry it’s not a fucking gin and tonic or whatever is classy, but this is fun. Classy is so boring.” Yang took her glass and knocked back half. Syrupy-sweet and fruity, awful in the best way.

Blake considered her drink with narrow eyes.

Yang chuckled. “Here, kitty kitty,” she said, waving the glass in front of Blake’s nose.

Blake snatched it, giving Yang the middle finger while she downed the whole thing. She slammed the glass on the counter and wheezed. “That’s—ugh—that’s like a melted popsicle.”

Yang giggled. She downed the rest of her drink, still swallowing the last gulps when she grabbed Blake’s arm and dragged her to the dance floor.

Blake dug her heels in on the cusp of the crowd. Yang jerked back like a dog pulled on a leash. “I stay here,” said Blake, “or I don’t dance at all.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Yang. “It’s all cool, it’s all good.”

Blake nodded, smirked, and started to move her hips.

Yang’s jaw went slack. Blake dropped to her knees and wove through the air to her full height, then sauntered back to her partner, draping her arms over Yang’s shoulders, still with that self-satisfied half-smile.

“Oh my god,” said Yang, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “You’re a freak.”

“You love it.”

Yang laughed. “I kind of do.”

She waited until Blake’s shoulders were slack under her hands, and whirled around. With her back to Blake, she started to move her hips slowly, deliberately, like a pendulum swinging.

“Are you really—”

“Yes,” said Yang, who started to move faster.  
Blake learned quickly to participate. Yang’s blood roared. Blake’s smooth hands on her hips, little sighs of effort and hot puffs of breath on the nape of her neck—the world blurred, and Blake was stark black and white on the muddy colors of the club, the loudest thing in her brain.

Breath caught in her throat. She turned around and pulled Blake close for a kiss.

They were only another couple of ink smears against the full color crowd, and nobody paid attention. Nobody noticed when Yang rolled her hips against Blake’s, or the way Blake made breathy noises when Yang kissed and bit under the angle of her jaw.

Blake put a palm on Yang’s chest—on her cleavage—and shoved. “We’re leaving.”

“Hon, we just got here,” said Yang as she half-ran for the door.

They crashed together just barely out of the club, because Yang couldn't keep her lips off Blake’s, couldn't stop her hands from creeping under the hem of Blake’s little black dress. Blake slapped them away. “Control yourself.”

“You—control yourself,” Yang spluttered. “Look, that alley is usually pretty quiet—”

“Fine. Lead the way.”

Yang blinked. That was a joke, but hell if she was going to complain. The idea of having Blake against a wall, dress shoved up around her hips, trying to muffle her moans—it started to sound like a good plan.

The walk was thirty long seconds of time wasted. They slipped into the shadows where the glimmer of the streetlights couldn't reach. Blake stood still for a second and lunged forward, wiry-strong hands pinning Yang against the cold brick.

“Oh,” said Yang, breathless. “This works.”

It was funny how often that happened, how Yang would see herself turning Blake into a hot mess while Blake had been plotting the same thing. Blake gave Yang bruising kisses along the top of her dress, moving up to nip her collarbone, while Yang shoved her thigh between Blake’s legs, rolling her hips forward. Give and take, back and forth.

Blake grabbed the hem of Yang’s dress and pulled her panties down her thighs, and the scrape of her nails made Yang bite her finger, muffling a groan. Blake slipped her hand down and stroked, her thumb finding Yang’s clit. Yang yelped and bit harder.

She needed to reciprocate. With her free hand she felt under Blake’s dress—shit, lace, she was wearing _lace_ —and pulled her panties out of the way. She slid her middle finger into Blake, massaging in a steady rhythm. Blake surged forward and kissed the air from her lungs. Yang gave Blake a second finger and ground the heel of her palm forward, loving the warm slick on her hand, Blake’s blown-out pupils and choked-off moans.

Blake’s sighs were catching noise now when they left her throat. Yang heard half-formed words, curses, bits of her name. It was hard to pick anything out when Blake was rubbing tight circles against Yang’s clit, sending electric shivers up her spine.

God, they were rutting like nervous teens in a fucking alley, anybody could wander too close and see—

Yang felt white hot, her whole body trembling, and she came laughing.

Blake’s arms shook, but she dragged Yang through the aftershocks. She whined, finally bringing both hands up to the wall, framing Yang’s face, putting the full force of her hips into Yang’s palm. Yang gave her a lazy kiss and worked her fingers faster.

Blake’s hands curled into fists on the brick. She bent forward, burying her head in the crook of Yang’s neck, biting down when she came. Yang kept going until Blake grabbed her wrist tight. She laughed again.

Blake stepped back. She pulled her panties back in place and straightened her dress. She was so gorgeous with lips bitten raw, muscles loose and fluid. “I can’t believe I just did that,” she said, eyes locked on the rows of streetlights in the distance.

“I mean, there are worse ways that could have gone.” Yang grabbed the hem of her dress, pulling it back down to mid-thigh. She wiped her hand on her skirt and Blake raised an eyebrow.

Yang snorted. “Don’t judge me. You were into it.”

“You made the suggestion.”

“It was a joke,” said Yang, hysterical laughter at the edges of her words.

Blake’s eyes went wide. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Let’s get back inside before you decide to jump me again. You got some kind of alley fetish?”

“You came first.” Blake was already heading back.

“Excuse me?” Yang huffed.

At least Yang got to watch Blake walk away.


End file.
